Shaded
by Kyla M
Summary: Miles away, in a room full of glass & shelves, sat a small orb among many. Inside was a dark poetry, a prophecy to rival Harry's. Would they find each other in time? Or would the words set out in the Deathly Hallows be the true path? Multiple pairings.
1. The Dark Beginning

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Shaded

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_Kyla M. _

_March 19, 2009_

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Prologue – The Dark Beginnings

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She knew that it was a venture that would likely fail, but she had to do it. Lives were at stake, but more importantly her heart was. She knew it was a selfishness that had brought it on, but she was tired of heartache and tired of living only for the wants and needs of others. She _had_ to do it; she had to.

With a flourish, she penned her name into the bottom of the ledger and walked away from the crumbling, unsteady desk. The world seemed to spin as she shakily stumbled to the tall, dark frame of the Veil and fell.

**---**

He knew it was a lost cause. Their troops were down and the list of missing was countless in number. There were outnumbered in a losing battle. Faith in their victory had long since left him. Of the fifteen, only three remained. They were supposed to be the heroes, but instead remained the ones who needed saving.

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She knew she was nearing her breaking point. Only after the battle was over would she know if it were all in vain. Death had painted her landscape an unimaginable color, one she wished dearly to repaint.

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Miles away, locked in a room full of glass and shelves, sat a small silver orb among many. Floating on the surface was a small symbol, an elongated h. Inside was a dark poetry.

It spoke: _When one will need the greatest three, fifteen will join the fight._

_Gone will be their rivalry, Gone will be the hatred._

_The snakes, lions, eagles, badgers, and normal one will join together._

_And the greatest three shall become the greatest seventeen._

_In peril they shall prove that love knows not boundaries, and loyalties knows not a simple__ place._

_Gone from the world will be the great, great evil._

_And gone will be life's roughness, allowing for friendships to seed__and bloom._

_But before the fifteen join the fight,_

_They shall come unto their greatest power, _

_And come unto their greatest hardship..._

_While all the while will paths cross, respect, friendship, and love._

_And from that love, a new destiny and future shall be forged._

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End of Prologue

More soon!


	2. The Fifteen Callings of Prophecy

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Shaded

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Kyla M.

March 20, 2009

**NOTE: May 11th, up to calling 14 is current.**

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_Chapter One - The Calling of The Fifteen of Prophecy_

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___The sky was dark and grey, the constant clap of thunder echoing through the hills. Rain poured down mercilessly as the night dragged on for what seemed only too long a time. It was the kind of night where people either sleep hard or didn't sleep._

_It was a night of dark magic and destiny for a few of the people of the world. It would be one etched in their hearts as well as their memory._

_It all began with a_ **dream**.

**There were fifteen huddled around an expansive fire, the flames licking at the fraying edge of their robes. They held hands tightly, grasping as if they would never let go again. Their faces were covered in shadow, their voices too faint to understand. A light twisted around their clasped hands and shadowed the firelight.**

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_Part One - The Calling of Hermione Granger_

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She awoke with a scream on her lips and horror in her heart. Her right hand burned white hot. She could see her hands despite the darkness of the room and knew that no heat was being applied at all.

The center of her palm started to turn an inky black, slowing making out the form of an h, the tail elongated lower with a slash. It almost looked like a disconnected b the way in hung. The burning stopped as the first of her tears dripped onto her lap.

The pain subsided, but she knew before she looked that the black mark was still there. She placed her hand down, to force the mark out of her mind, only to see that it showed on both sides of her hand.

Impulsively, whether by fear of the burning, the dream, or the symbol, she grabbed her wand.

And she screamed as it incinerated in her hand.

_

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_Part Two - The Calling of Cho Chang_

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Storms had always kept her awake in the night, even the smallest ones. The mammoth one brewing outside her bedroom window was no exception.

At first the wakefulness had been because the storms had scared her. But time and life had taught her differently, showed her the truth. The storms were always a prelude to something, something bad. The severity of the storm equalled the severity of the bad.

The last big storm she'd encountered had been on the eve of the Third Task, June 23rd, 1995. The night before she lost Cedric.

She knew the storm outside was worse than the storm that fateful night.

And she hated it.

Suddenly, her vision blurred. She tried to blink it clear but when she opened her eyes again she saw a vastly different scene than her navy bedspread and black sheets.

There were fifteen people in a circle, hands grasped together. They huddled around a great fire, the flames licking at their feet. A light came from their hands, bursting from the shadow of the fire and the darkness of the night. She was looking at the scene from above, but she knew that she was one of the fifteen.

She blinked the scene away, the dimness of her room reappearing. Her eyes were brimming with tears as her right hand suddenly ached with a dull weight. It felt as if her hand was hollow, a shell of itself. It hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced before, even worse than the heartache of losing the one person she had wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She shakily lifted her right hand, staring at it. It was deathly pale, veins nearly bursting out. Slowly, a black shape inched across her hand and began to form something she'd never seen before.

Frantically, she grasped her wand.

She screamed when the wood rotted between her fingers and the core decayed past saving. But her scream was drowned out in the storm.

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_Parts Three and Four - The Calling of Nymphadora and Remus Lupin_

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She awoke with a start, sitting up quickly. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her head swam with dizziness. She felt the tears fall from her face as she tried not to scream out loud.

Her right hand felt as if it were frozen, past the point of being frostbitten. It hurt so terribly much that she wondered if she would ever feel the extent of the pain again. The child in her stomach was calm, eerily still. Cold, black fear struck her heart like ice.

She pulled frantically at the sheets, searching for her husband. He wasn't in their bed, he was _gone. _

She hysterically grasped for her wand as the bedroom door opened and the love of her life walked in. She let out a scream as her wand snapped into ice covered pieces in her hand.

He rushed to her side, the dream replaying in his mind as well. He saw the black h-like symbol that had appeared with that light, warm, but painful feeling on his hand, was etched on hers as well. He grabbed his wand as he took her right hand in his left.

His wand burst into a bright light, the finest of ash dusting his palm.

And the symbol mutated on his hand and on hers as well. It was white now, a stark contrast from the black. And around it were tiny colored squares like a mosaic around it.

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_Part Five - The Calling of Charles Weasley_

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He felt the pain before he awoke. It was a familiar pain, but it hurt worse than it ever had before. It felt as if a cold, bitter wind was biting at his hand. As if it was going to tear it apart. He looked at it in the darkness to see it was red and swollen, but in the center was a strange black symbol, slowly forming. When the shape stopped moving, the wind that had been ruffling his hair had stopped. The pain ceased.

But the shape was _archaic_, he knew. The symbol hadn't been seen in thousands of years. He couldn't recall where he'd learned it, but he knew it was true. With a sigh, he reached for his wand.

He nearly screamed when the sudden wind came back and tore his wand apart, the few remaining pieces embedding in his hand.

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_Part Six – The Calling of Luna Lovegood_

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She screamed herself awake, her body trembling with fear. The darkness seemed to wrap itself around her.

Her hand hurt with a fury she'd never felt before. It was as if it had been cursed to never feel again. It had turned black, pure black, except a small white symbol slowly appearing in the center.

And as suddenly as it had started, the pain ceased. The color had returned to her hand except the symbol, now inky black.

She reached for her wand. And fainted when it imploded in a flash of darkness in her hand.

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_Part Seven - The Calling of Justin Finch-Fletchly_

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He awoke slowly, as if his body wouldn't respond to him. The darkness of the room seemed to wrap around him as he choked for air.

The storm outside made the rain beat on his windows as he reached for his inhaler. He breathed in with a gasp before he reached for his wand. His hand felt strange and new, an inky black symbol on it. He'd been in the Wizarding world long enough to know that it wasn't natural.

His wand shook under his grasp and exploded. When the dust cleared, in place of his wand sat a small willow tree, a baby dragon, and a mewling phoenix.

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_Part Eight – The Calling of Susan Bones_

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She awoke crying. She wanted to claim that she never did, but the War had changed things. _So many things_. Her aunt's death had terrified her. She knew she mightn't survive the war. The pain in her hand suddenly intensified.

She grasped her wand, not even noticing the symbol on her hand.

Her wand imploded as she felt her body slowly lifting into the air.

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_Parts Nine and Ten – The Calling of Bill and Fleur Weasley_

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He woke with a terrible start, the darkness of the dream echoing. His hand throbbed for but a moment before it felt as if it were being crushed. He tried not to scream, not to wake his wife. But the pain was too much to bear. His scream died in his throat as he watched the inky black on his hand stop moving and the pain ceased.

She let out a childish girly scream as she awoke, the bed beneath her shaking with her sobs of pain. She sat up slowly and moved to wake her husband when she saw him sitting already. He stared at his hand and then slowly, looked at her.

"Fleur… Are you okay?" his voice was a raspy whisper. She shuddered as the pain in her right hand intensified with a constant throbbing, like an inner darkness. Like hate.

" 'Urts." She mangled the word as it came out. Suddenly, the pain stopped. She looked at her hand; saw the once beautiful and flawless skin marred by an ugly black shape. Her husband looked at her hand as she looked as his. With agility she hadn't known she had, she grasped her wand. It fell to black and red smoking pieces in her hand.

Frightened, he grasped his wand, but it became dust in his scarred hand. They grasped for each other, hearts furiously beating. They didn't see the black marring their hands fade to white. Nor did they see the tiny colored squares appearing around it.

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_Part Eleven - The Calling of Ginevra Weasley_

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She awoke shaking, the cool air biting. She wanted to scream but the other girls were utterly and blissfully asleep for the first time in weeks. Her hand felt a pain she'd never experienced in her lifetime. Like a static shock, multiplied by the thousands. It hurt down to her toes, radiating with a peculiar crackling sound.

She left her hand as carefully as she could, her eyes widening in horror and in fear as her palm was etched with inky black. Frantically she grasped her wand from under her pillow.

She screamed herself raw when the slender wooden stick exploded in her hand as if it had been struck by lightning.

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_Part Twelve – The Calling of Pansy Parkinson_

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The first thing she knew when she awoke was that her hand throbbed, like the waves of the tide. Her hand felt weightless, like water. But it _hurt. _The pain was like nothing she'd ever experienced and like nothing she thought she would again. It was as if she was experiencing a _Crucio_, but only in the palm of her shaking hand.

She wanted to scream and nearly did when she saw the black mark on her hand. But she grasped her wand and felt her world spin to black as the wood and it's core fell apart in myriad of soggy pieces.

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_Part Thirteen – The Calling of Draco Malfoy_

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He was not the kind of teenage boy who screamed in fear or writhed with pain. He did not wake from nightmares shaking or yelping.

But as the days grew darker, his heart grew more afraid.

And so he awoke shaking and writhing in pain. It felt as though his hand was being torn apart, slowly and with no abandon. Like he'd always imagined heartache, but as if he held his heart in the palm of his hand.

The black marring the skin of his hand did not bother him, not as much as the black on his arm did. But the pain was as bad as the worst torture he'd known in his years.

He fumbled for his spare wand.

And screamed when it burnt with a dark rose color in his hand.

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Part Fourteen – The Calling of Severus Snape

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The night he'd almost died had been drowned out with a perilous storm. It had been after he'd felt Lupin's fury, felt the werewolf's hot breath so close to him, but it had echoed within him for a long time afterwards.

Storms meant danger. Storms meant pain.

Cynical and bitter though he was, he'd once wished for a storm that arrived with good—as if it cleansed his spirit.

The years had worn him weary, spiked him with aching. He knew that type of night would never happen. Not to him in any case.

Storms meant death, as he proved that fateful night in July when Albus Dumbledore took his final living breath.

And then came the pain. It crept upon him like the echo of the Cruciatus curse, unsuspecting and striking. It was very much so the worst pain of his life, perhaps not so much more than how much it hurt his soul to murder the closest thing to a friend he'd had since he was a child, but perhaps much more. The days had worn the pain of it away, although he knew as he knew with Lily, that the pain would never go away.

The pain resonated in his hand, one moment burning the next as cold as ice. It felt as if it were decaying and then suddenly painfully alive.

As quickly as it started it stopped.

He lifted his hand carefully, noting the strange black mark marring the pale surface of his palm. An overwhelming anger erupted in him, a dark fury that turned his eyes even darker.

He was marked.

_Again_.

Memories of things he'd wished dearly to redo or to erase played before his eyes. Memories of the first black mark to mar his skin and the events surrounding it, that became of it.

Memories of Laina Brown, the first girl who experienced death at his bloody hands; memories of Lily Evans Potter, the one he'd regretfully been a part of killing. Memories of Albus Dumbledore and all the mark had resulted in him doing.

The black fury in his heart did not stop as he snapped up his wand, but dissipated as the wand exploded into cold silver flames in his hand.

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End of Chapter One

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. It's encouraging.

Please don't forget that I'm a high school girl at the end of my senior year and thus don't have tons of time to spare. I do wish to finish this however.

I've had the characters plotted out for years, so I'm sorry if you don't agree with my choices. Up through The Deathly Hallows this is canon-compliant. I am not sure, but I may make it canon-complaint up until the epilogue, using the awesome behind the scenes writing that make great fanfictions. :) Enjoy.

Please review.

-Kyla


	3. The First Few Pieces Fall

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Shaded

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Kyla M.

April 15th - 16th, 2009

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Chapter Three - The First Few Pieces Fall

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_Hermione_

She knew that she should do it. She should to find them before it was too late. But her heart told her she had to stay with Harry, to protect him.

She couldn't find the others if she stayed. And yet, somehow she knew if she left they'd be far worse off. If she abandoned Harry now, even to save him, it would be in vain.

She had whittled a stick she'd found near her bed, kicked in from outside, into the shape of her wand. Despair had her hiding her handicap from Harry but she knew if he found out it might be worse.

The night wore on. Day hadn't yet broken and although the storm had stopped, she hadn't stepped outside yet. It was fear that kept her in, fear that kept her away from Harry.

Fear. It was powerful and consuming. Like a snake, it twisted between the crevices and posed itself to strike at the most opportune moment for itself. Like a spider, it spun a web as large as it could until it consumed as much as possible. Like death it was crafty and unsuspecting.

It was a mysterious night, a dark and forbidding prelude to the future of the War.

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_Luna_

"It's always darkest before the dawn."

She'd heard the words spoken so long ago, but the years hadn't worn them down. Her mother had said those words to her the day after she died.

She'd always thought they'd applied to the point during the night when the other girls would pinch her things and hide them in their trunks until she was gone and they could hide them elsewhere.

When the War began, she thought it referred to the coming climax, the unchangeable point.

The night told her otherwise. She'd felt the power in her hands, tasted the blood pooling in her mouth. She knew the night had changed her, permanently.

The fierce whispering that had come with the raging storm had died down; the pitter-patter of the rain had ceased. The night sky was clear and starry. Luna longed for the sky outside, the feel of the dry earth beneath her bare and calloused feet.

There was no sign of the storm, but for the black marring her pale hand.

She knew if she told anyone that she would be even further ostracized. Her father might believe her, but precious little that meant any more. He had become so wrapped up in the _possibilities_ that he didn't see her anymore. He spoke to her, raved with her. But as close as they seemed, it was a false picture painted in her heart.

She had told him she loved him her entire life. It was only since her mother died that he stopped responding. She strived for his attention, and now she had the key to it etched on her skin.

She didn't want it. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Oh, to be six again, playing hopscotch with her mother and her cousin Celeste. Before Celeste and Mum were erased from her life.

Her heart told her that the dream was real, a foretelling. There were fifteen of them, striving to save the world or to doom it. She was one of them, and she must find the rest.

_At any cost. _

But would it be worth it? To be accepted and content, happy and free?

She knew the weight of her actions, the possible outcomes. She knew she might be as much as an outcast there, with them. But she'd felt the quiet whispering of hearts in sync, the beating of her soul with theirs.

If even for that brief moment, she wanted them. Craved for them. If they were after the destruction of the world she would want to rise against them, but only if she could feel the power of affection and understanding. She was strong, but she didn't know if she were strong enough to face the world, head on, alone.

In the books, the hero was never without help; he was never without a companion or an ensorcelled sword. There was strength in reliance, alliance. She had spent her life hiding behind lies and possibilities, but never the ones that mattered.

She loved Harry because he was _Harry_. Not the Boy-Who-Lived or the son of the famous James Potter. But because his heart knew what was right and true, he knew to stand for it.

He'd accepted her as a friend because she believed in him when few else did. He didn't know that she believed in the impossible because it couldn't disappoint her and if he did he didn't care.

He hadn't disappointed her, but had instead inspired her. She wished to repay him. If it came between him and _them_, she didn't know her choice. She just hoped she could choose the right one.

The quiet was suffocating. Her mind wasn't stifled, instead it struggled to make sense ever more.

Understanding. Oh, how she dreamed of it with every fiber of her being. Harry at that moment was fighting for her, for the lowest, for the Muggles. He fought for them because, despite their treatment of him, he found them to be valuable.

Luna felt the darkness enclosing her, choking her. She clasped her hands together in a silent plead, voiceless prayer.

A bubble of magic formed between her clasped fingers, like water pooled between them. She spread her hands apart and saw a sphere of something black, crackling with faint violet bolts. It was magic she held between her fingers, dark black magic. A furious angry rage bubbled in her throat as the orb increased in size.

"Stop…" she rasped out after a cold black sliver of fear struck her heart.

The magic faded to a faint violet dust on her palms.

She turned her face to the floor of her prison. Felt the sorrow of imprisonment all over again. The cold laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange echoed through her head.

No, she couldn't leave. She would be imprisoned here, wandless, until the day someone would save her. She couldn't save herself, no. She couldn't.

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End of Chapter Three

A/N: The last two callings are goging to be up soon, don't worry!


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